


There's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy

by Hazel75



Series: We Need a Little Christmas [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson and Skye cooking together, F/M, More holiday fluff, Skye Feels, Wishful Thinking, coulson feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 06:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2802920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel75/pseuds/Hazel75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson decides to give Skye a cooking lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Winter Wonderland, best sung by Andy Williams, in my opinion. The recipe should be credited to Martha Stewart.

"So what exactly are we doing here?" Skye asks, looking at the ingredients and equipment Coulson had set out on the kitchen counter, picking up what appears to be a thermometer with a clip on the side and setting it down.

"Making salted caramels." Coulson measures out heavy cream and sweetened condensed milk into a small saucepan before emptying corn syrup and sugar into a larger pot. "Take that sheet pan, line it with foil, please, and spray it with oil."

"Um, can't we just buy them?" Skye pulls a length of foil and presses it into the pan, holding up the finished product for Coulson's approval. He nods and hands her spray oil.

"Well, yes. But after the fiasco with the eggnog, I thought you might benefit from a lesson in what one can accomplish with high quality ingredients and some hands-on attention." So this is some kind of punishment for laughing at his attempt to make eggnog from scratch. She can't help it if the team preferred the store-bought carton she plonked down next to his more elegant pitcher. "And it's relaxing."

"Yeah, looks like a really relaxing science experiment to me. You and Simmons could do some great bonding."

He snorts. "Hand me the candy thermometer, Skye," indicating the large thermometer Skye had been fiddling with earlier, and fitting it to the pan with the corn syrup and sugar. He takes both pots and puts them on the stove, turning the flame on under each.

Skye perches herself on a stool by the stove and gestures with her hand, "So what are you doing right now?"

"Well, in the large pot, we're making our caramel syrup. First, you have to melt the sugar into the corn syrup. If you want to be useful, stir it gently with that wooden spoon just until the sugar dissolves. " Skye scoots her stool over in front of the large pot and starts stirring.

"No, gently, you don't have to slosh it around the pan. That'll make the sugar crystallize which ruins the finished product." Skye makes a very mature face at Coulson's back as he turns to pick up some other implement but slows her stirring. He returns with a small brush and a bowl of water. He reaches over where she's stirring to brush the sides of the pot with some water. "Doing this occasionally helps avoid crystallization, too."

"Yes, sir." Skye cocks her head and looks at Coulson. "So candy-making? This is not something I would have figured you for." That Coulson is a not-so-secret food snob is one thing, and she had heard about him cooking for Simmons while she was undercover. This, however, seems more Martha Stewart fussiness than foodie. Although Skye has to admit the picture Coulson presents (no jacket, sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up, tie tucked inside his shirt, a look of concentration on his face) puttering around the kitchen doesn't make her think of Martha Stewart. More like a really sexy chef. She shakes her head and returns her concentration to the pot she's stirring. Coulson probably wouldn't appreciate her burning the sugar or allowing it to crystallize because she had gotten distracted ogling his forearms. "How long does this take?"

"Eh, about 10 minutes for the sugar to dissolve. Then, we'll reduce the heat and continue heating the syrup at a low boil until it reaches 250 degrees. Usually, about 45 to 60 minutes."

"An hour? We're going to stare at the this pot for an hour?"

"That's the relaxing part." He smiles. "You can't rush this or you ruin it. So get ready to hunker down and enjoy the process."

"So, where'd you learn to do this?" Skye asks turning to look at Coulson.

"I taught myself. But my mother, she used to make candy at Christmas time -- more old-fashioned than this -- Martha Washingtons, divinity, date loaf. I used to keep her company in the kitchen and act as her helper." Skye likes the idea of a child Coulson sitting in a small kitchen with his mother, watching her measure ingredients and stir pots. It reminds her that Coulson didn't come out of the womb the well-dressed and worldly man he is now. Once he was a little boy who helped his mom in the kitchen. "At some point, when I started getting into really good food, I figured I could try my hand at some of the more complicated dessert stuffs. And candy's about as complicated as it gets." He smiles a little guiltily as though aware that making caramel wouldn't be seen as an appropriate activity for a SHIELD agent.

But Skye's always liked the fact that Coulson doesn't bother with other people's ideas of appropriate. She wouldn't be here if he had. Coulson's always seemed very comfortable in his skin, not needing to peacock or make displays of machismo. It's one of the things that makes him easy to be around for her. If Coulson is so accepting of his own quirks, it makes her own easier to share.

"Yeah, well, I always seemed to be back with the nuns at Christmas time. They were bigger on making sure we understood 'the real meaning of Christmas' than making candy or cookies for us." Skye stares at the pot she's stirring with great concentration. Christmas hasn't historically been a particularly happy time for her. When she turns to look at Coulson, he has that look on his face, the one he always gets when she talks about her childhood -- angry and sympathetic at the same time -- all soft eyes and pinched lips. She gives him a grin to lighten the mood again. "It looks like the sugar's finally dissolved. Now the watching and waiting can begin."

They settle back on their stools, side by side. She nudges him with her elbow. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

"They don't call me charm school for nothing," he says with a smirk.

Coulson gets up and put the dishes they're finished with in the sink, cleaning up the work space while they wait. Skye appreciates his quick, clean movements, no motion wasted. When he's finished, he comes back to his stool, and they sit for a while in a companionable silence.

After a while, Skye speaks up. "So tell me more about childhood Christmas at the Coulson home. I'm curious. That is, I'm interested, but if it's not something you want to talk about--"

"No, no, it's fine, Skye. I haven't thought about this stuff in a while. No, we always celebrated Christmas although my mother wasn't very religious. We'd always have a tree, though, and decorate with Christmas songs on the record player -- Jim Nabors, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby, Andy Williams -- that kind of thing."

"Gomer Pyle? Gomer Pyle could sing?" Skye asks in amazement.

"I'm surprised you even know who Gomer Pyle is. A little before your time, I'd say. But, yes, Jim Nabors could sing."

"Nick at Nite is for all generations, Coulson." At his sidelong look, she laughs. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"Hey, I thought I was the one talking here. Do you want me to continue or should we stick with the age jokes?" Resisting the temptation to stick out her tongue at him because, after all, he started it, she gestures, zipping her lip, and he continues. "Money was always tight after my father died so Christmas was more about the things we did together than an orgy of gift-giving. But it's the experiences you remember more than the things so maybe that was good."

He turns to her and touches her hand. "I really appreciate what you've been doing around here lately. We needed it, I needed it."

"Well, I've kinda felt like the team has been fractured, maybe, since Ward turning Hydra, betraying all of us and almost killing Fitz and Simmons. Trip, I don't know, it was like he brought such a good, positive vibe, which helped fill in some of the cracks from last year. Now, with him gone, I got worried because everybody was keeping so separate. You guys, you're kind of like a family to me. I mean, not that you're my dad or Fitz is my brother or anything because that would be super weird. But you're important. It's probably silly to think that some Christmas decorations and music would make a difference. But there it is." She shrugs a shoulder, peering at the pot.

Coulson brushes the hair off her shoulder and then leaves his hand there. "Skye, it has made a difference. To me, to Simmons, well, to everyone. I think it's helping us be with each other."

She smiles brightly at him. "Yeah, look at us, making fancy, smancy candy. Who knew?"

"Speaking of which, how's our temperature looking? Getting close yet?"

Skye stands bending closer to the pot. "Yep, right about there."

"All right, well, I'm sure you've been wondering why we've been heating this cream. You haven't asked, but I'll tell you anyway." Coulson puts on his teacher voice. "We wouldn't want to add cold cream or butter to the syrup. We want it to continue boiling, don't want the temperature to drop too much or the whole thing could seize up. So why don't you pour, while I stir?"

Coulson hands Skye a potholder for the small pot of cream mixture. She pours very carefully while the syrup mixture boils furiously and then adds the butter.

"Now, we have to keep stirring constantly until the mixture gets to 244 degrees fahrenheit or the firm ball stage." He catches her expression. "Yeah, yeah, it's very funny. It's a technical term so I'll thank you to get your mind out of the gutter. We've still got another hour probably. We have to keep stirring, but at least there are two of us. You can take the first shift, Skye." He walks away from the stove and reaching into another bag on the ground, pulls out a wine bottle and an opener. Opening a cabinet door he comes back with a couple small glasses.

Skye looks at him with eyebrows raised. "You've been holding out. Where was that earlier?"

"If we got started on the wine too early, I was afraid of the effect on our caramel."

She looks at him, watching him cut the foil away and open the wine expertly. No twist-offs for Coulson. He pours wine in the glasses, handing her one. "So how'd you swing the time away from your office? And why aren't we being pestered every five minutes by Hunter or Bobbi? I mean, you didn't tell everyone to stay away, that you were giving Skye a cooking lesson, did you?"

"I told them all to get out and go get something to eat, go do some Christmas shopping. I was pretty tyrannical - you'd have been impressed," he says, smiling.

"And May listened to that?"

"Well, she rolled her eyes, but she left. I promised I'd take a break while everyone was gone. Do some yoga, or something." He takes a sip of his wine and looks at her. "Wasn't that how you suggested I relax?" He says with happy wrinkles around his eyes.

She chortles. "Yeah, but you're not flexible. I heard that. And I think you're a big, fat liar. I've seen you train. You look pretty flexible to me." She looks him up and down, appreciatively.

He takes the spoon from her, taking over stirring duties, standing close to her.

"I'll tell you a secret." He leans down and whispers in her ear. " _Yoga is boring._ "

She laughs softly. She wouldn't have believed it was possible, but it's nice being here, being domestic. With Coulson. Skye wonders if this is the kind of thing he and Audrey used to do together. That idea makes her feel weirdly lonely and a little jealous. Which is silly, after all, because she and Coulson, well, they're not that way. Lately, though, she's realized she's curious about him, well, that way. He obviously cares for her, but she's been thinking about what it could mean. They've always done this kind of bizarre gazing thing, searching each others' eyes. And lately, there's been more touching. She's found herself looking forward to even the casual touches and wishing they were more frequent. Standing closer so their arms brush or putting her hands closer to his than necessary while they review diagrams for an op.

"Hey, where'd you go?" Coulson asks, doing that gaze thing he does.

She starts, realizing she drifted there for a minute. "Sorry, just thinking. That this is fun. Having some quiet time, away from work." She looks at him shyly, feeling kind of dumb. "With you."

His look back at her is strangely shy as well and makes him look younger than his fifty years, almost boyish. "Me, too." He puts the arm he's not stirring with around her shoulders and pulls her closer so that she's leaning against his side. She forces herself to relax but realizes her heart is racing. This is not how they do things. She slips her arm around his waist and looks at his face, searching for something that might clue her in, but he just looks content and absorbed in his task. So she takes another sip of her wine and enjoys the moment, hoping he doesn't pick up on her confusion. Maybe if she pretends like this is normal it will be.

It's very quiet in the kitchen. Skye's very aware of the hiss of the gas flame, the sound of the spoon making its way through the mixture and the sound of her own breathing. She thinks something has changed, but she's not sure what, how or why. Her training with May isn't for nothing, though, and she's able to be in the moment, enjoying the feel of the warm weight of his arm on her shoulder, his firm torso next to her, her head resting against the side of his chest.

Eventually, Coulson removes his arm; the caramel has reached the firm ball stage. Skye doesn't care what he says, that is funny. She moves her arm, too, pouring vanilla at his instruction.

He takes the pan from the heat and pours the caramel very carefully into the pan she prepared earlier. He hands her a small jar of fleur de sel. "Now sprinkle a little of that on top. Not too much. We don't want the salt to overpower, just to accent the flavor." She rolls her eyes.

With a light hand, because she can do stuff, too, she sprinkles the flaked salt on top. "So, how long does it have to cool before we cut the caramels? When do we get to eat?"

He looks at her with a small grimace. "Overnight?"

"What? We've been working on this for, like, over two hours, and now you tell me it'll be tomorrow before we can try them? What kind of operation are you running around here?" she asks only half jokingly. "I mean I know about delayed gratification, but there's delayed and then there's delayed," giving him a meaningful look.

He furrows his brow as though thinking hard, picks up a spatula and scrapes a bit of the golden mixture from one end smearing it onto a plate laying close by. "Okay, we'll cheat. This'll cool quickly so we can have a taste."

They both stare at the plate impatiently. Coulson touches it lightly with his forefinger, testing the temperature. "Almost cool enough." After a few more minutes pass, he pronounces it ready and scrapes with the spatula again, bringing some rather sticky caramel to her mouth.

"Oh my god, this is so good. It melts in your mouth," she says rather rudely through a mouthful of caramel. Coulson's gotten himself a taste and nods.

"I know. It's almost sensual. See why it's worth the time and effort to make them yourself?" He evidently can be uncouth enough to talk with food in his mouth, too.

"Absolutely, although I say we play your director card and make someone else clean up the mess," she says looking around surveying the assortment of dirty dishes. "But I know what I'm doing tomorrow morning. Cutting caramels."

He laughs. "Of course, I'll warn you, though, wrapping them is beyond tedious, and I'm not sure I can get away."

She looks up at him. "Let's make Hunter do it. He's tedious; it's a perfect job for him."

"Poor Hunter," Coulson glances at her while covering the sheet pan, "what did he ever do to you?"

"You've met him. Do you really have to ask?"

Coulson shakes his head. "Well, I'd say our work here is done. What do you say we go get a bite to eat? I know this little Mediterranean place that has excellent small plates."

He holds out his hand, and she takes it. Walking out together, she thinks she's not quite sure what they're doing, but she likes it.


End file.
